Paul Doherty - The Treason of the Ghosts

‘And this is what we have in Melford?’

‘Yes, Ranulf, but I can’t make sense of anything we have learnt.’ Corbett leant forward. ‘Let me tell you a story.’

Chanson drew nearer and sat cross-legged next to Ranulf.

‘Once upon a time,’ Corbett smiled at his companions, ‘we have the King’s market town of Melford, a very prosperous place where crops are no longer sown but the fields are grassed over. Sheep are raised and the wool is sold for a fat profit. You’ve seen the effects of this: good, stout buildings, a tavern like the Golden Fleece, Guildhall, shops, luxury items, brought in from the merchants of London. Now all is pleasant in this little Eden until five years ago. .’

‘So, who came here five years ago?’ Ranulf asked.

‘I’ve scrutinised that,’ Corbett replied. ‘No one did. Most of the characters we are dealing with, including the Chapeleys, have been here at least ten years, as have the vicar, his curate and Burghesh, Molkyn the miller and so on. However, I know what you’re implying. The first murder took place five years ago but, according to Sorrel, there have been others: the womenfolk of traders, chapmen, tinkers, Moon People. The latter now avoid this place like the plague. However,’ Corbett continued, ‘five years ago, in the space of a few months, three townswomen were attacked, raped and garrotted; their corpses found in different parts of the countryside. Now you have seen this town, it lacks walls and gates. An army could slip in and out and not be noticed. I have ridden around it: at one time you are in a busy, prosperous market town, the next lonely countryside. It’s a landscape our killer would love: it dips and rolls. Part of the forest has been cleared away but copses and woods still survive.’

‘And there’s no ploughing,’ Ranulf declared.

‘Good man, Ranulf! We’ll make a farmer of you yet. When fields are ploughed, you have a constant stream of labourers moving in and out: harrowing, fertilising, sowing, reaping. Meadow land is different, that’s why raising sheep is so profitable. The longer the grass grows the better. The sheep are put out to pasture and who looks after them? A shepherd with, perhaps, his boy and dogs? Because sheep wander, hedgerows have been planted along the narrow lanes. In places the trackways are like trenches. Someone could move along them and not be seen by a shepherd boy dozing under a tree — a perfect killing ground. However,’ he tapped his foot on the floor, ‘we do have one perplexing problem. Why should a young woman wander out into such countryside to meet this assassin? Yes, Chanson, I accept how you bribed the tavern wench to come out and meet Ranulf. But, would she have gone into the countryside, to a lonely place like Devil’s Oak? And this Mummer’s Man, riding his silent horse? Is he the murderer? If so, his victim would have to be out in the countryside to begin with. And, bold as she might be, Adela would not approach such a strangely garbed figure on a lonely country lane.’

‘But for silver?’

‘Oh, I accept the logic of what you say, Ranulf. If I told any of the serving girls below that a silver piece was out at Devil’s Oak, they wouldn’t tell anybody in case they lost it. They’d keep it quiet. I could understand Adela going out for a second time, if her first journey had been profitable. But, what inducement would she be given first?’

Ranulf snapped his fingers. ‘Master, the Mummer’s Man was seen riding the country lanes?’

‘Yes, that’s what Sorrel told me.’

‘So, he may have been going to put the silver in the secret place, travelling to meet his victim? Or even returning after the murder?’

‘And?’

‘I’d wager,’ Ranulf continued excitedly, ‘the killer first approaches his victim here in the town, a narrow lane, a dark alleyway. He calls out a name. Perhaps he coats the trap with honey? Says so-and-so admires her. Perhaps that Mummer’s Man, if he is the killer, doesn’t give a name but just says a silver piece will be in a certain place?’

‘I agree. Few young women could resist such an approach. The victim would be curious, wondering if it was true or not. So she plucks up her courage and goes out to some desolate spot. The silver piece is there. Perhaps she is killed on the first occasion, the assassin lurking nearby. Or, maybe she has only to go a short distance that first time, and, the trap laid to ensure greater compliance, it’s the second time he strikes, luring her further away to an appropriate place.’

Corbett half cocked his head and listened to the sounds from the stable yard, the cries of farewells as the taproom was cleared.

‘Anyway, let me continue my story. Our killer lusts after young women. Wearing a disguise and mask, he makes his approach. The victim is lured out into the lonely countryside and killed. For all we know, there may be women who were not tricked so easily but that might be difficult to establish. Now, so far,’ Corbett continued, rubbing his chin, ‘the story is simple, it’s like luring a child with sweetmeats. I suspect this Mummer’s Man is the killer. He roams the countryside lanes and trackways looking for possible victims like a fox hunting rabbits. Remember, the corpses of these victims have been found because relatives became worried. But, what happens to other victims, the wandering womenfolk? Their relatives might believe the wench has run away, gone somewhere else. Or don’t even care? In the area around Whitefriars in London, God forgive us, you can buy a girl of twelve for a penny.’

‘But Widow Walmer doesn’t fit this pattern.’

‘No, Ranulf, she doesn’t. Here’s a pretty widow who has probably seen the world, knows its wickedness and has the wit not to be trapped. She lived by herself though Margaret the miller’s daughter served as her companion. On the night she died she expected Sir Roger, that’s a well-known fact, so young Margaret was told to stay at home.’

‘How would the killer know that?’

‘By deduction, Ranulf. If Sir Roger, God bless him, was trumpeting in the taproom how he was going to visit the widow and the killer heard.’ Corbett pulled a face. ‘That’s not the real problem: the riddle is why? Why Widow Walmer?’

‘It would appear, Master, she almost had to die?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If she hadn’t, Sir Roger wouldn’t have been trapped, his house wouldn’t have been searched. The carpenter wouldn’t have remembered seeing him in Gully Lane.’

Corbett sat and reflected. ‘Are you implying, Ranulf, that Widow Walmer was murdered because she knew something? Or that she was deliberately killed to trap Sir Roger?’

‘Possibly both, but I would choose the latter.’

Corbett shook his head in disbelief. ‘You are a man of cunning wit, Ranulf. I hadn’t thought of that. Let’s follow that path. Sir Roger suspects who the true killer of the young women is. Perhaps he hints at this knowledge. So, our mysterious Mummer’s Man spins his own murderous web to catch this knight. The only weakness of this argument is Sir Roger was a man of hot temperament. Why didn’t he just accuse the killer openly? Have him arrested? Drag him before Justice Tressilyian?’

Ranulf, who had been preening himself at Corbett’s praise, stared blankly back.

‘No, no.’ Corbett leant over and patted him on the knee. ‘I accept your hypothesis. Let us return to Widow Walmer. Sir Roger goes for his evening of love, then leaves. We have to believe that Furrell was telling the truth but the poacher also claimed he saw other people slipping down Gully Lane towards Widow Walmer’s cottage. One of these could have been the killer, the other two must have been Repton’s comings and goings.’

‘Do you think Furrell really was telling the truth?’